THE TILLAMOOK ROCK LIGHT-STATION
While the Northern Pacific Ocean is the loneliest stretch of salt water
in the world, yet it possesses one or two busy corners. Prominent among
the latter is that where it washes the shores of the United States
around the entrance to the mighty Columbia River. The estuary is wide,
and, although navigation is handicapped by a bar, it is well protected.
But coming up from the south there is a stretch of terribly forbidding
coastline, with the cliffs at places towering 1,500 feet or more into
the air and dropping sheer into the water. Rock-slides are of frequent
occurrence, and the beach is littered with heavy falls from above. Here
and there protuberances rise from the sea, formed of rock sufficiently
dense and hard to withstand more effectively the process of erosion,
only to constitute fearful menaces to navigation. Often the mainland
is completely obscured, either by streaks of mist or heavy clouds of
smoke produced by forest fires, which in the dry season rage with great
violence. A ship caught within the toils of this stern coast has no
possible chance of escape, while the crew would find it difficult to
get ashore, inasmuch as at places there is not a single landing-place
within a distance of twenty miles.
Owing to the coast being frequently blotted from view, and to the fact
that this stretch of sea is swept by furious storms, the plight of
the mariner making to or from the Columbia River became exceedingly
precarious. The worst tragedy of these waters was enacted on the dark
and stormy night of January 3, 1881, when the sailing-ship _Lupata_
lost her way and went to pieces on the rocks off Tillamook Head.
Under these circumstances it is not surprising that an outcry arose
for protection along this lonely reach of Oregon’s jagged shoreline.
The authorities responded to the agitation by the promise to erect
a lighthouse, once they should have decided the site, which was the
really perplexing question. In the first instance it was thought that
its location upon the mainland would suffice, but a survey betrayed
the futility of such a choice. The light would be too elevated to be
of any service; for the greater part of its time it would be rendered
invisible by land fogs. Then, again, it would mean cutting a road for a
distance of twenty miles through heavy, undulating country and primeval
forest to gain the point, as the verdant sea of green timber extends to
the very brink of the cliffs.
After prolonged consideration, it was decided to erect the light upon
the Tillamook Rock. This is a hard mass of basalt, rising boldly from
the water to a height of 120 feet, which, when viewed from one side,
presented the appearance of a clenched fist. It stands about a mile
off the mainland, twenty miles south of the Columbia River mouth, and
drops plumb into the sea, where the lead gives readings ranging from
96 to 240 feet. The whole area of the rock is less than one acre, and
it is split almost in two; another isolated knot of basalt, upon which
the seas break heavily when a storm is raging, rears its shaggy head
into the air near by at low-tide. The only possible landing-point is
on the east side, where there is a beach sloping upwards sharply from
the water to the crest. When the ocean is roused the sight certainly is
terrifying. The waves fall with shivering force upon the base of the
rock, to rush up its ragged sides and sweep right over its crest in a
dense curtain of angrily frothing water and whipping spray.
Despite its fearsome character, this rock constituted the most
serviceable situation for a light, for the reason that, being a mile
from the shore, it was free from land fogs and clouds. The decision
of the authorities depended upon three factors only--that a landing
could be made, the rock occupied, and the requisite building materials
unloaded. The introduction of such a saving clause was politic,
because at first it seemed as if the rock would defy the gaining of
a foothold. The ghastly failure attending the survey, as described in
a previous chapter, brought public opinion into dead opposition to
the project, and many fearsome stories were circulated sedulously up
and down the coast and among the towns fringing the Columbia River
concerning the perils, hardships, and terrible death-roll, which would
attend any attempt to place a beacon on this rock.
After the disaster the authorities pressed forward the enterprise with
greater vigour than ever, so as to get work well under way before
public opinion would be able to make its influence felt upon the
unsophisticated minds of workmen required to carry out the undertaking.
A daring, determined, and energetic leader was secured in Mr. A.
Ballantyne, and he was deputed to rally a force of eight or more highly
skilled quarrymen with whom to proceed to Astoria, where the land
headquarters were to be established. He was informed that upon arrival
at this point he would find everything in readiness for his immediate
departure to the rock, with all essentials to enable him to commence
work at once and to provide quarters for the workmen, who would be
compelled to suffer isolation and a certain amount of discomfort for
weeks at a time. It was impossible to take more than a handful of men
at first, owing to the difficulty of landing provisions.
Mr. Ballantyne started off with his small picked force, reached
Astoria on September 24, 1879, and there suffered his first check. The
autumn gales had sprung up, rendering approach to the rock absolutely
hopeless. There was no alternative; he must wait until the weather
moderated. As this might be a question of a few hours, days, or perhaps
a week or two, the chief grew anxious concerning his force. If the men,
having nothing to do, wandered idly about the town, making acquaintance
with all and sundry and listening to gossip, then they could not fail
to be impressed with the extraordinary stories concerning dangers,
hardships, perils, and adventures; would conclude that the Tillamook
was a “hoodoo” rock; and would desert him promptly. To guard against
this contingency, the quarrymen were hurried off and temporarily housed
in the old light-keeper’s dwelling at the Cape Disappointment light,
some miles away on the northern portal of the estuary, where they were
safe from pernicious influences.
[Illustration: THE TILLAMOOK ROCK LIGHT STATION FROM THE SOUTH.
Rising from the sea one mile off the Oregon Coast, it was for years a
terrible danger spot. The light of 160,000 candle-power, 132 feet above
high water, is visible for 18 miles.]
After twenty-six days of enforced idleness the squad was picked up by a
revenue cutter, which steamed to the rock, and made fast to a buoy that
had been laid previously for mooring the vessels deputed to transport
building materials and other requirements. With extreme difficulty four
men were got on the rock, together with a supply of hammers, drills,
iron ring-bolts, a stove, provisions, supplies, and an abundance of
canvas, with which the advance staff were to erect temporary shelters
and to make themselves as comfortable as they could. While the work
was in progress the wind freshened, the swell rose, and the boat had
to retire hurriedly before the remainder of the force could be landed;
but five days later they were transferred to the rock, together with
further provisions and supplies, as well as a derrick.
The little party soon received a taste of what life would be in this
lonely spot. Three days after the second landing, and before they had
shaken down to their strange surroundings, a gale sprang up. Heavy seas
pounded the rock, and the waves, mounting its vertical face, threw
themselves over its crest, drenching the workmen and their sleeping
blankets. It was a startling episode, but it became so frequent that
the quarrymen became inured to their fate, and were not perturbed in
any way, except when the Pacific was roused to exceptional fury.
When the first four men gained the rock it was seen that the landing
of material, especially the heavier incidentals, would constitute the
greatest difficulty. Then an ingenious idea was advanced. Why not rig
a heavy rope between the mast of the vessel and the top of the rock,
draw it taut, and devise a traveller to run to and fro? It was a
practical suggestion and was adopted forthwith. With much difficulty
a 4½-inch rope was towed from the vessel--to the mast of which one
end was secured--to the rock, and grabbed by those in occupation.
This end was anchored firmly, and constituted the track. Then a large
single block was rigged to this main line in such a way that it could
move freely to and fro along the cable. This block was provided with a
heavy hook on which the weights could be slung. Other blocks were fixed
on the vessel and on the rock, while an endless line, passing through
these blocks at each end, and attached to the shank of the hook on the
travelling block, enabled the traveller to be pulled freely and easily
in either direction.
Both men and supplies were transferred from ship to shore by this
primitive, albeit ingenious, system. The men were carried in a novel
device, described as a “breeches-buoy,” such as is used with the rocket
life-saving apparatus, but of very crude design improvised on the spot.
It was contrived from an ordinary circular rubber life-preserver, to
which a pair of trousers cut short at the knees were lashed tightly.
This was suspended from the block-hook by means of three short lengths
of rope. The trip through the air certainly was novel, and not free
from excitement; indeed, there was just sufficient spice of adventure
about it to appeal to the rough-and-ready, intrepid spirits who
constituted the forces of the lighthouse engineer. Also, owing to the
primitive character of the apparatus, there was just the chance that
something would go wrong when the man was between ship and rock. The
breeches were provided to hold the man in a safe position while in the
air, to guard against a loss of balance and tipping out; while should
anything give way, and the man make an unexpected plunge into the
water, the life-preserver would keep him afloat until a boat could draw
alongside to rescue him.
[Illustration: THE CONQUEST OF THE TILLAMOOK.
The top of the crag was blasted off to provide a level space for the
lighthouse.]
[Illustration: THE TERRIBLE TILLAMOOK ROCK.
Showing how the menace rises abruptly from the sea on one side.]
There was another factor which had to be taken into consideration, and
which certainly contributed to the novelty of the trip. As the boat
responded to the action of the waves the rope alternately drew tight
and sagged. When she rolled towards the rock the cable was slackened,
and the man generally had a ducking; the next moment, when the vessel
rolled in the opposite direction, he was whisked unceremoniously and
suddenly into the air. It was like being suspended at the end of a
piece of elastic. The men for the most part enjoyed the fun of the
journey, and considered it a new and exhilarating “divarshun.” Among
themselves the effort was to travel in either direction so as to escape
a cold douche on the journey. When the water was rough, speculation
took the form of guessing how many dips into the water would be made
before either terminus was gained.
This novel landing method provoked one amusing incident. The
supply-boat came out to the rock one day bringing a new raw hand.
The cableway was rigged up, and the workman prepared for his ride
to the rock. But the man was somewhat corpulent, and could not be
thrust through the preserver. This was an unexpected _contretemps_,
and it seemed as if the superintendent would have to let his recruit
return. But Ballantyne did not worry over trifles, neither did he
relish the idea of losing a hand after having him brought so far, so
he put forward a somewhat daring proposal. He told the captain of the
steamer to lash the workman to the top of the buoy, and they would
pull him ashore all right. The labourer was scared out of his wits at
this suggestion, and resented being handled as if he were a balk of
timber. Why, even the perishable articles were unloaded in casks to
protect them from the wet. He expressed his determination to see them
to perdition before he would make a trip through the air under such
conditions. Ballantyne was somewhat crestfallen at the cold reception
of his brilliant idea, so told the captain to take the workman back to
Astoria, and to ransack the place to discover a buoy which would be big
enough to fit him.
Two days later the vessel returned with the larger buoy and also the
corpulent quarryman. His second glimpse of the primitive travelling
frightened him worse than ever, and he point blank refused to budge.
In order to reassure the raw hand, Ballantyne hauled the buoy ashore,
and, jumping into it, made a journey, to illustrate that the system was
perfectly safe, and that one need not even get wet. But Ballantyne’s
demonstration was rather unfortunate. The cable was slack, and the
ship rolled heavily. Result: the superintendent was dragged through
the water for nearly the whole distance, and at times nothing of him
could be seen. When he landed on the boat, half-winded and drenched to
the skin, the quarryman was scared more than ever, and announced his
intention to return to Astoria. Ballantyne cajoled, coaxed, argued,
and stormed, in turn, but to no avail. Then another idea came to his
fertile mind. If the man would not travel via the breeches-buoy,
why not send him ashore in a bos’n’s chair? This was rigged up
satisfactorily, and therein the workman consented to go ashore, though
not without the display of considerable trepidation and anxiety to
keep out of the water. They got him on the rock safely, and without so
much as wetting the soles of his feet. The quarryman by his resolute
opposition set up a record. He was the first man to land dry on the
Tillamook.
Subsequently this novel and, so far as it went, efficient method of
“quick transit” was superseded when the men on the rock got their big
derrick to work. The long arm of this appliance leaned over the water
far enough to pick up the goods direct from the deck of the vessel
moored off the rock. This system was quicker, and enabled the goods to
be got ashore unsoiled.
The first men to land found the rock in the occupation of sea-lions,
who swarmed its scaly sides in huge numbers, even making their way to
the crest to bask in the sunshine. These tenants at first resented the
white man’s invasion, and were somewhat troublesome; but at last they
recognized that their eviction was certain, so suddenly deserted in a
body to another equally wild spot farther south.
The first task was the preparation of the site for the building. The
fist-like overhanging crest was attacked to prepare a foundation,
thereby reducing the height from 120 to 91 feet. The rock surface was
scarred and riven in a fantastic manner, owing to the scouring action
of the waves eroding the soft portions leaving the hard rock behind in
the form of needles, scales, and ugly crevices. The outer part of the
rock, moreover, was found to be of an unreliable character, being more
or less rotten, while the core, on the other hand, was intensely hard,
and promised an excellent foundation for the beacon. The superfluous
mass was removed by blasting, this being carried out with extreme care
and in small sections at a time. The largest blasts did not remove
more than 130 cubic yards, or tons, of débris at one time. This slow
blasting, by handfuls as it were, was necessary so as not to shatter or
impair the solidity of the heart of the rock, which was to support the
buildings.
Drilling and blasting were carried out in the face of great
difficulties. Rain, rough seas, spray, and heavy winds, combined
to thwart the little band of workers toiling strenuously in solemn
loneliness upon this bleak crag. Often days would pass without any
tangible impression being made upon the surface. The drilling holes
would be swamped, and unless care was observed the powder charges ran
the risk of being damped and rendered impotent or uncertain in firing.
In the attack upon the crest the workmen distributed themselves around
the crown. On the precipitous side, as there was not a friendly ledge
on which to secure a foothold to work the drills, bolts were driven
into the rock-face, from which staging was suspended by ropes, and
on this swinging, crazy foothold the men drove their tools with salt
fleece whirling round them.
Until the men were able to erect more or less permanent quarters, their
plight at times was pitiable. The canvas was cut up and an A-tent was
rigged up. It was a cramped home, measuring 16 feet long by 6 feet
wide, while the ridge pole was only 4½ feet above the ground. This
domicile just held the ten men in their sleeping-blankets. Naturally,
they had to crawl rather than walk about, and, as the shelter served
as a dining-room as well, the little band had to tolerate many
discomforts. When the wind howled round the rock, causing the canvas to
flap violently and threatening to carry it away at every turn, when the
sea swarmed over the rock, and when the heavy rains to which this coast
is subject poured down pitilessly, the men never knew what it was to
have dry clothing or bedding. Cooking was carried on in the open, and
the kitchen arrangements had to be shifted from time to time, according
to the direction of the wind, so that the fire was brought on the lee
side of the shelter.
The workers were exposed to danger on all sides incessantly, but
fortunately in their chief, Ballantyne, they had one of those men who
appear to be made for such contingencies; who was alert, ready for
any emergency, nursed his staff sedulously, and whose buoyant spirits
dispelled all feelings of gloom, loneliness, or homesickness. The
little band toiled hard and long through the rough autumnal weather,
and the arrival of stern winter did not bring any cessation in their
labours. They fought the rock grimly and ignored hardship. Certainly,
they were cheered by the arrival of the boats with supplies, but
occasionally a fortnight or more would pass without a call being made
at the rock, and often, when a boat did come up and prepare to land
material, it had to slip its anchor hastily to make a frantic run for
safety before the rising swell and the gathering storm.
Early in January Nature concentrated her forces, as if bent upon a
supreme effort to shake the determination and courage of the little
army striving so valiantly upon the rock. On the night of New Year’s
Day the clouds assumed an ominous appearance, and accordingly the
workmen were not surprised to meet a stormy and rainy reception
when they made their way to their duties the following morning. The
weather grew worse on the third day, the spray enveloping the rock
and drenching the men, while the wind blew so fiercely that they
could scarcely keep their feet. During the next two days it increased
in force, while the sea grew angrier. On the 6th the elements were
raging in torment, and in the afternoon Ballantyne, taking stock of
the meteorological signs, came to the conclusion that the party “were
in for it.” A hurricane, or possibly a tornado, was looming. The
tools were being swung with infinite difficulty, when suddenly came
the signal “Stop work!” Ballantyne urged them to set to at once to
lash everything securely. At six o’clock in the evening the hurricane
burst, and the workmen witnessed a sight such as they had never seen
before. The whole coast was in the grip of a tornado, of which the
Tillamook Rock was the vortex, whereon the elements concentrated their
destructive forces. The huge rollers assumed an uglier appearance than
ever; the broken water rushed up the steep sides into the air, where
it was caught by the whirling wind and dashed on the tiny camp. It was
impossible to escape that savage attack, as it was driven home from
all sides simultaneously. The men took to their permanent quarters in
silence and very gloomy. By midnight the roof was being peppered with
huge masses of rock, which, detached by the waves, were caught up and
thrown clean over the rock. Ballantyne urged the men to stay in their
bunks, to keep up their spirits, and to seek a little rest.
[Illustration: FAMOUS UNITED STATES LIGHTHOUSES OF TWO CENTURIES.
The rear tower was built on Cape Henry in 1789, with stones shipped
from Great Britain. Owing to the sand thrown up by the sea, another
light had to be provided nearer the water, and was completed in 1879.
The old light is retained as an historic building.]
But sleep was impossible. The quarrymen were scared out of their
wits, and there was every cause for their dismay. It seemed as if
the very rock itself must succumb to the savage onslaught. The din
was deafening; the rock shivered and trembled as the breakers hurled
themselves upon it.
It had just turned two. Suddenly one and all sat up in terror. There
was a fearful crash--a rending and splitting, which was heard plainly
above the weird howling of the hurricane. The men tumbled out of their
bunks panic-stricken, and were about to stampede from their shelter
to seek refuge upon a higher ledge. But Ballantyne’s pluck asserted
itself. He, too, had been scared by the awful noise, but he collected
his scattered wits more quickly than did his comrades. He grasped the
situation, and with iron nerve commanded all the men to stick tightly
where they were. An ugly rush seemed imminent, but he stood with his
back to the door, and in plain English dared the men to leave their
cover. Any man who attempted to fight his way to the upper refuge would
be swept overboard by the wind and sea.
The quarrymen were not cowards, and Ballantyne’s action steadied them.
Then the foreman announced his intention to go out to see what had
happened. He grabbed a storm-lantern and opened the door. Instantly he
was hurled back by the wind and sea, which appeared to be submerging
the rock. For two hours he stood waiting an opportunity to slip out
against the hurricane. At last he succeeded, and in the intense
darkness endeavoured to grope his way over the rock. He had been gone
only a few minutes when he staggered back, battered, shaken, and almost
exhausted. He could not make headway against the gale. So the men sat
down and silently waited the approach of dawn. Then they found that
the rushing waves had fallen upon the building in which all their
supplies were stored, had smashed it to atoms, and had destroyed and
carried away nearly all the provisions, the fresh-water tank, and other
articles, although the requisites for work were left untouched. It was
the break-up of this storehouse which had woke them from their slumbers
and had provoked the panic.
For ten days the gale raged, being more furious on some days than
others. When it decreased in fury the men were able to settle to their
work for an hour or two, but progress was painfully slow; on other days
not a tool could be picked up. On the 18th the revenue cutter came
out from Astoria to ascertain how the men had weathered the tornado,
and the signal for coal and provisions was answered immediately by
the lowering of a surf-boat. The sailors had a stiff pull to reach
the rock, found that the men still had a scanty supply of hard bread,
coffee, and bacon--this was all--and, taking off the letters, promised
to send supplies immediately. The construction ship also came up; the
captain sent ashore all the provisions he could spare, and undertook to
return at once with a full supply. But another ten days passed before
the sea went down enough to permit these to be landed, together with
five more men.
[Illustration: THE RACE ROCK LIGHT.
It marks a dangerous reef in Long Island Sound, where, owing to the
swift currents, construction of the foundations proved very difficult.]
Nature appeared to capitulate after this terrible assault, and work
proceeded rapidly. The crest of the rock was removed and levelled off,
to form an excellent platform for the reception of the beacon and other
buildings. An inclined tramway was excavated out of the rock-face,
communicating with the landing-stage, to facilitate the haulage of
the light-keepers’ necessities, and then the arrangements for the
completion of the building were hurried forward.
When the public saw that the work was being accomplished without loss
to life or limb, and that the plucky little party of toilers weathered
the gales, an intense interest was manifested in the undertaking. The
foreman was provided with an international code of signals, and passing
vessels, as an act of courtesy and in recognition of the work that was
being done to further their safety, always stood towards the rock to
render assistance in case it was required. The workmen appreciated this
feeling, and on two occasions, during dense fog, intimated to captains
who had lost their way, and were groping blindly round the rock, that
they were venturing into dangerous waters. The warning was primitive
but effective. It comprised the explosion of giant-powder cartridges
over the sea in the direction whence the ships’ sirens sounded. In both
instances the navigators heard the signals in the nick of time, and
were able to steer clear.
The lighthouse itself comprises a group of buildings for the keepers,
from which rises a square tower 48 feet in height, bringing the light
132 feet above mean high-water. The dwelling is built of stone,
measures 48 feet by 45 feet, and is one story in height. In addition
there is an extension for housing the powerful siren and its machinery.
The building contains adequate living-quarters, together with storage
rooms and a kitchen. As this light is particularly lonely, four keepers
are stationed on the rock, and their rooms each have a clear length of
12 feet by 10 feet wide. Also, as the rock is so difficult to approach,
and relief may suffer extreme delay from adverse weather, sufficient
provisions are stored to insure full rations for six months.
The light is of the first order, of 160,000 candle-power, and is
visible at a distance of eighteen miles in clear weather. It is a
brilliant white flashing beam, occurring once every five seconds, the
flash being of two seconds, followed by an eclipse of three seconds.
The fog-siren is likewise of the first order, driven by steam-engines.
This plant is in duplicate, and the signal is given every forty-five
seconds, the blast being of five seconds, followed by silence for forty
seconds.
The conquest of the Tillamook Rock has been one of the most difficult
tasks that the United States Lighthouse Board ever has accomplished.
The little band of quarrymen who braved danger, hardship, and
privation, effected occupation of the rock on October 21, 1879, and
the light was exhibited for the first time on January 21, 1881, the
total time occupied in the task being 575 days. It has robbed the
dreaded Oregon coast of one of its worst perils, and the money which
was devoted to the provision of this stalwart guardian--£24,698, or
$123,493--was indeed expended to good purpose.